David doesn’t ever show up in the cafeteria. I know because I’m watching for him.
I’m sitting in my room that evening, listening to Adele, trying to do homework, and wishing Ivy would go to another room if she’s going to keep walking in circles. She’s driving me crazy, not because she’s doing anything wrong or unusual, just because I’m one big exposed nerve and everything she says or does is like a guitar pick twanging it.
I get a text and check it. It’s from David.
I’m in front of your house
I’m stunned. He’s never just shown up before.
My fingers fly as I text back.
be right out
I jump out of bed and shove my feet into flip-flops. I’m wearing cropped sweats and a T-shirt—my pajamas. I look sloppy, but I’m not indecent.
“Where are you going?” Ivy asks, pausing in the middle of a circuit.
“To see a friend.” I’m out the door and down the stairs before she can ask me anything else. I’m relieved that Mom and Ron are in their room with the door closed and the TV way up high, so I’m spared from having to answer any of their questions.
David’s car is pulled up to the curb. I open the passenger door and peer inside.
“Get in,” he says.
I slide in and close the door. “What’s up?”
He’s gripping the top of the steering wheel tightly with both hands and staring at his knuckles. “They took him away today. While I was in school.”
“That’s awful.”
I can’t tell if he’s even heard me or not. He keeps pressing his lips together and swallowing, and I know that trick—it’s to keep yourself from crying. I’ve used it plenty of times myself.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. They told me they weren’t leaving until tomorrow and then I got home and they were gone and he was gone and I tried calling him and she answered his phone and said, ‘You’ve been so negative about this whole thing that we decided it would be easier for Ethan if you two didn’t have a big goodbye.’”
“That’s so wrong.”
“She won’t even let me talk to him. Not even talk to him.”
“What about visiting? Can you visit him? Where is it?”
“A couple hours north on the 101.”
“That’s drivable,” I say. “We could go. We could go and bring him back.”
He shakes his head. “They have security at this place—my stepmother kept talking about that, about how protected he’d be there, how he wouldn’t be able to run away. Even if they let me in, they won’t let me take him away from there—not without my parents’ permission.”
“We should visit anyway—at least he’ll know you wanted to say goodbye, and we can see how bad it is.”
“Yeah.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Sorry to bother you,” he says, still not looking at me. “I just had to talk to someone.”
“I’m glad you came.” We’re silent for a moment. Then I say, “Please, can we be friends? I know I screwed up. But I had no idea Ivy was gay, or I never would have set them up. And I know I should have watched Ethan more carefully, but I really thought he was just in the bathroom. I’m so sorry for every stupid thing I did, but I care about you both so much, and I can’t stand to have you hate me when everything else already feels so sad.”
“I don’t hate you,” he says. “And I don’t blame you for that stuff either.”
“You’ve kind of been giving off that vibe. At school today—”
“I was scared I’d break down if I talked to you. I was barely holding it together, and a friendly face was pretty much the worst thing right at that moment.”
“Oh. So we can be friends?”
“Of course. We are friends. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.”
We sit there a moment.
And then he says, “All I can think about is him being in a room somewhere . . . alone and scared and—” His hands go up to his face, and he makes the saddest sound I think I’ve ever heard—a moan of pure grief. His shoulders start shaking, and even though his face is covered, I can hear his sobs.
There’s only one thing I can do and I do it. I wrap my arms tightly around his shoulders and pull him to me. He drops his hands and buries his face in my neck. I can feel his tears on my skin, hot where they’re fresh, cooler where they’ve already slipped down and dampened his cheeks and chin.
I hold him while he cries.
His sobs gradually slow down. He stays a few more moments in the crook of my neck and then suddenly and abruptly pulls away and sits back in the driver’s seat, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve.
“I’m sorry,” he says thickly. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“You think I mind?”
He doesn’t answer that. “I should go. It’s late.”
“Just sit for a second. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” He takes a long, shuddering breath and rubs hard at his face, like he’s scrubbing it clean. “Today’s been rough, that’s all. But I’m fine. I don’t have to keep you here any longer. I don’t even know why I bothered you.”
“Because you knew I’d understand. Because if this had happened to Ivy, I’d be a basket case. I’m in this with you, Fields, and you’d better not try to shut me out.” I pull on his sleeve. “Look at me.”
He does. At least, I think he does—he turns toward me—but it’s so dark in the car that his eyes are just black holes.
“Somehow you’ve become the person I’m closest to in the world right now,” I say. “I don’t know why or how, because you’re kind of a dick.”
This gets something that’s almost a laugh out of him.
“And you don’t exactly welcome people into your life,” I say. “You’ve shoved me away every chance you’ve gotten. But I don’t care. I need you in my life because you’re the only person who gets me—and you need me in your life for the same reason. And this whole Ethan thing is scary and sad and wrong, and some of it’s my fault, but not on purpose, and you know that, and that’s why you’re going to forgive me and let me help you help Ethan. We’ll rescue him together, and maybe we’ll figure out Ivy’s future together, too.”
“Okay.”
I wait. He doesn’t say anything else.
“Okay?” I repeat. “That’s it? That’s all I get for my beautiful speech?”
“Okay, Chloe?”
“I was right. You are a dick.” I reach for the door.
He grabs my hand. “I was kidding.”
I turn back to him with a grin. “I know. So was I.”
He squeezes my fingers so hard it’s painful. “Thank you. For coming to my house and being nice to me tonight and for saying you want to be my friend.”
“I don’t just want to be your friend. I am your friend, whether you like it or not.” I squeeze his fingers back, just as hard. “You’re not dealing with all this shit alone, you know. I’m in it with you, all the way.”
“I’m beginning to get that feeling.” He’s not letting go of my hand, and I’m okay with that. “Want to hear something really screwed up?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t judge me for this, okay? I think part of the reason I was upset that your sister was gay was because it meant I didn’t have an excuse to hang out with you anymore.”
“I’m reporting you to GLAAD,” I say. “And you were wrong. We’re hanging out right now.”
“How about tomorrow? Any chance we’ll be hanging out then?”
“A very good chance. If you ask nicely.”
“Will you please meet me after school tomorrow?”
“You didn’t actually have to ask nicely. I was going to say yes anyway.”
Thirty-Three
CAMPANELLI’S ON FIRE the next day, fluffing up her hair and shoving up her sleeves—an adorably dowdy little ball of energy and enthusiasm. She plunges right in when class starts. “ ‘For Esmé—With Love and Squal
or’ is my favorite story in the collection—that’s why I saved it for last. We all know what happens in the story, but what would you say it’s about?”
“How bad war is,” Jana says instantly, without bothering to raise her hand.
“Okay, good,” Camp says. “Salinger is definitely not in favor of the war.”
“What an insight,” David mutters, and Camp looks over at him.
“You have something to add, David? Something constructive?”
“Anything would be more constructive than ‘war is bad.’”
“Shut up,” Jana says, swiveling so she can glare at him over her shoulder. “War is bad.”
“Well, duh.”
“Don’t duh people in my classroom, please,” Camp says.
“Sorry,” David says. “I just think there’s more going on here than just the obvious.”
“And that would be . . . ?”
He says, “This is a story about a girl who saves a guy by proving there’s still some good in the world.”
After school, we walk together to a coffee shop, where we get lattes and talk. We’ve had plenty of deep conversations, but it’s like a layer of thick scar tissue has been peeled off or something—we never knew for sure before if we were actually friends or just two people who were stuck spending time together.
Now we know.
David has gotten more information about Ethan. He won’t be able to talk to him for at least a week—the school doesn’t let students call home until they’ve settled in—and he can’t visit for an entire month.
“They think it’ll help him adjust,” he says. “Seems just mean to me.”
“We’ll plan a visit for the earliest possible date.”
“You’ll really go with me?”
“Whether you want me to or not.”
“I’m okay with it,” he says, and flashes a brief smile that’s warmer than his words. “The weird thing is that I couldn’t be doing this if he were home, you know? Just hanging out with you here. I’d have to be rushing off to make sure I was home before he was. It’s not fair that I get to be sitting here talking to you and he’s stuck in some awful place all by himself.”
“We’ll visit him as soon as we can. And if he hates it there, we’ll get him out. Somehow.”
“I admire your optimism,” he says dryly.
“Yeah, well, most of the time, it’s all I’ve got.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” he says, shifting in his seat. “Distract me—if I keep thinking about this when I can’t do anything about it, I’ll drive myself crazy.”
“Okay.” I tell him about Ivy and Diana—how Ivy is in love with her, but she doesn’t seem to feel the same way.
“That sucks,” he says. “It’s like the eternal triangle, isn’t it? Ethan likes her, she likes Diana . . . Who does Diana like?”
“No idea. Probably no one. She’s not the most social creature I’ve ever met.”
“But boys?”
“I think so. I mean, odds are good, right? So now all I have to do is find a lesbian with autism who lives nearby and is roughly Ivy’s age and who’s available.”
“Tinder?”
“Swipe right, Ivy, swipe right—Yeah, no.” I flick at the plastic top to my cup. “I’ll keep trying to help her make friends, but if nothing works out . . . There are a lot of good colleges nearby, right? I’ll just stay close enough to be able to drop by a lot and make sure she leaves the house now and then.”
“Yeah, I was going to commute to somewhere local so I could keep living with Ethan. I still will if he comes home.”
“Don’t you feel like we’re living in a different world from everyone else at school? All anyone else ever thinks about is getting into the best college they can afford.” I wind my fingers around my cup, seeking out the warmth. “And if I weren’t worried about Ivy, I’d totally be like that—I mean, I work hard at school. I want to get a huge scholarship and go somewhere amazing just as much as everyone else. But if I only thought about that . . . if I just stopped caring about what’s going to happen to Ivy . . . I’d end up hating myself.”
David’s mouth opens like he sort of wants to say something, but then he doesn’t. I glance up, and he’s just sitting there looking at me. His eyes are such a cool color—a mixture of brown and gray with tiny flecks of yellow ringing the pupils. How could I ever have thought they were colorless and uninteresting?
I squirm under his steady gaze. “You’d tell me if I had something on my face, right?”
“You have, like, this beautiful face on your face.”
I feel my cheeks turn hot. I give a shaky laugh. “Don’t turn into someone who gives compliments. I won’t know you anymore.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, flushing. Which is kind of adorable. “That one just slipped out. It won’t happen again.”
I study him for a moment, and feel my heart suddenly speed up. It feels like maybe there’s more that needs to be said. I take a deep breath and look down at the table. “You know, when I said I’d be your friend whether you wanted me to or not, I wasn’t being entirely honest.”
His chin jerks up. “What do you mean?”
“You’re kind of an arrogant asshole, and it wasn’t that long ago that I couldn’t even stand being in the same room as you, but you’re the only person I know who cares as much about his brother as I do about my sister.” There’s a drop of coffee on the table. I touch it lightly with the tip of my finger, and it turns into a tiny flat puddle. “And I don’t know whether that’s a good reason to start to like someone, but apparently it was enough for me, because I did. So . . .” I have to swallow to be able to get the words past my swelling throat. Even so, they’re barely more than a whisper. “I was kind of hoping we could be more than friends.”
There’s silence. A dull, agonizing thud of a silence.
“Crap,” I say. “That was a mistake, wasn’t it? Saying that out loud?” I shove my coffee cup away and get to my feet. “Sorry. I’m going to pretend I didn’t say that, and if you’re a decent human being, you will too. Let’s go.”
“Hold on,” David says, jumping up and grabbing my arm. I twist away, still too embarrassed to even look at him, but he doesn’t let go. “Don’t say something like that and then run! I mean, you don’t say to someone, ‘You just won the lottery,’ and then get mad because they need a second to process the news.”
“Is it like that? Like winning the lottery?” My voice is still not much more than a whisper. I don’t seem to have the breath for talking normally, what with my heart knocking away inside my chest the way it is.
“Kind of,” he says.
There’s a pause. We’re both frozen in place. “Say something nice, okay?” I plead. “I need you to be nice right now.”
“I just said you were beautiful, like, two minutes ago.”
“I need more. I feel all vulnerable right now.”
“Well, now you’re just being a pain.” His hand is still on my arm; he slides it down and wraps his fingers around my wrist.
“Someone needs to teach you how to be human,” I say. “You’re not all that good at it. But you will be.”
“Because you’ll teach me?”
“Or die trying. Probably that.”
The coffee shop door opens, and a couple of kids from our school walk in. They’re not friends or anything, but they know us enough to wave . . . and to react to the fact that David and I are there together, apparently holding hands.
I don’t care that they can see us, but David says, “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
Mom and Ivy won’t be back for a while, so I suggest we walk to my house. It’s over a mile, but it’s a beautiful day—not too hot—and it feels good to stroll side by side, our hands linked, the sun warming the tops of our heads. I feel too overwhelmed to talk much, and he’s pretty quiet too.
We reach my house. I let us in, then close the door and turn to face him.
“W
hat now?” he asks, nervously shifting from foot to foot. “You should know that this is all new to me. I’ve never had a girlfriend. Or even gone on a date.”
“I’m shocked. I’m not shocked.” I heave an exaggerated sigh. “Clearly I’m going to have to do all the work here.” I lead him into the living room and push him down so he’s on the sofa. “The first thing you should do is sit very close to me.” I sit down so that our legs are touching, side by side. “Then you should say something nice.”
“Again?” He rolls his eyes. “Jesus. How many times am I supposed to compliment you in one afternoon?”
“Just do it.”
“Last night I didn’t think I could ever feel happy again. Turns out I was wrong.”
I let that sink in for a moment.
“Was that okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Pretty good, actually.” We don’t say anything for a moment, and I think of Ethan, sitting next to Ivy, wanting to touch her and hold her and kiss her, and I think of Ivy sitting next to Diana, wanting to touch her and hold her and kiss her, and it occurs to me that maybe the greatest thing in the world is sitting next to someone you want to touch and hold and kiss, who actually wants to touch and hold and kiss you back.
“What are you thinking about?” David asks me.
“Skin hunger.”
“Huh?”
I answer by turning toward him, taking hold of his arms, pulling him toward me and pressing my mouth against his.
He’s not a great kisser, but that’s just lack of experience.
So I give him a crash course.
And he improves quickly.
Thirty-Four
I’M GLAD OURGARAGE DOOR is noisy, because it gives us time to separate and enter the kitchen just as Ivy and Mom do.
“What are you doing here?” Ivy asks David.
His lips look a little swollen and darkened. I hope I’m the only one who notices that. He says, “Just hanging with your sister,” and drops into a chair.
“Where’s Ethan?”
“He’s gone,” David says. “He went to boarding school.”
“That’s what I thought,” she says. “Why are you here?”